


Mournful Medic

by Artemis_Dreamer



Series: The Squishy Apocalypse [13]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Age Difference, Chocolate, Drabble, Fat Robots, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Medical Examination, Mild Angst, Not Canon Compliant, Possibly Unrequited Love, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 03:26:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10481031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis_Dreamer/pseuds/Artemis_Dreamer
Summary: Ratchet had always been attracted to First Aid, but had become adept at disregarding that attraction. The recent increases in the Protectobot’s mass, however, were making that attraction increasingly difficult to ignore.---In which Ratchet is pining, and First Aid is oblivious (and chubby).





	

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This is a work of fetish fiction, involving unhealthy eating and weight gain.
> 
> Don't like, don't read.

The Ark's medbay was absolutely packed with mechs. Thankfully, everymech was here to receive their annual tune-up, rather than to receive treatment for battle injuries. Still, the medbay was packed, the medics were rushed off their pedes, and Ratchet couldn't justify taking his optics off his work for even a nanoklik.

Except, that is, to cast the occasional disapproving glare at First Aid. 

The Protectobot was proving to be an incredibly talented assistant, managing to quite nearly live up to Ratchet's exacting standards. His one notable failing was his decided lack of spinal struts, his reluctance to tell a mech off when it was their own foolishness that had landed them in the medbay. Negative reinforcement was a powerful tool in any medic's arsenal, and one that Ratchet utilized liberally. 

Today, however, that unfortunate lack of spinal struts was not the reason for Ratchet's disapproving glares. No, the reason was the seemingly endless supply of bite-sized chocolates that the Protectobot was enthusiastically stuffing into his mouth whenever he believed that the older medic wasn't paying attention. 

First Aid was performing maintenance on Cliffjumper at the moment, replacing a few of the minibot's overtaxed spark plugs. The medical assistant was intently focused on his task, carefully observing every aspect of routine procedure. Save, of course, for the fact that every third movement of his servos was either to retrieve a chocolate from his subspace, or to consume one of said chocolates.

Ratchet paused for a moment, still elbow-joints deep in Sunstreaker's open chestplates, to observe his assistant. Treat after bite-sized treat was disappearing into Aid's greedy little mouth at a truly alarming rate - a rate that the Protectobot had easily sustained throughout the entire morning. 

The old medic grumbled a curse, turning his attention back to the frontliner's oil change. Nomech deserved to have sticky, chocolate-covered servos poking around in their internals. 

Except, knowing Aid, his servos were likely spotless. The Protectobot would never let snacking interfere with his work - he invariably strove to provide the best care possible, and could seemingly perform minor miracles in pursuit of that goal.

Ratchet had thus far found no valid reasons to complain about First Aid’s behaviour. This, of course, annoyed him to no end. Some of the more impertinent Autobots often joked that the medic wasn't satisfied unless he had something about which to complain, loudly and at length - these jokes were surprisingly close to the truth. 

"You're done." Ratchet gruffly informed Sunstreaker, closing the frontliner's chestplates with considerably more force than was strictly necessary. "Go get that twin of yours." 

As Sunstreaker hastily vacated the medical berth, Ratchet returned his optics to First Aid. Snacking during work hours was a problem in and of itself, but there was another, bigger problem to consider.

Quite literally bigger. The Protectobot had yet to notice it, but decaorns of near-constant absentminded snacking had caused a considerable increase in his mass.

First Aid's frame had become what the humans would describe as "pear-shaped", the plating of his aft and thighs now generously padded with fat. The majority of his newfound weight, however, had gone directly to his chassis - it had swelled into a stomach that could be politely described as sizeable. 

It was a vast, soft curve of a belly, which protruded well past the former dimensions of his frame, and as such was near-constantly bumping against nearby objects and surfaces. First Aid had somehow managed to remain completely oblivious to the weight that he had gained, failing to compensate his movements accordingly.

Ratchet doubted that such an increase in mass was healthy, but he couldn't be certain without further research into the properties of organic fuel. Such fuels were foreign to Cybertronians, and there was currently no data as to their effects, but uncertainty was no excuse to jump to conclusions. 

Of what Ratchet was certain, however, was that First Aid's newly acquired mass was incredibly distracting. 

Again and again, his optics returned to the chubby frame of his assistant. There was something truly fascinating about the way that his plump lipplates closed around each chocolate, the way that his soft cheekplates bulged as he chewed, the way that his optics and processor still remained focused at all times on his patient -

Now halfway through an inspection of Sideswipe's suspiciously sticky, glitter-flecked cooling fans, the medic had never been more grateful that he knew these procedures quite literally by spark. In a more serious situation, being distracted in this manner could result in severe consequences for his patients. 

Ratchet had always been attracted to First Aid, a mech that was in so many ways his opposite - softspoken rather than brash, calm rather than irritable, genuinely compassionate towards his patients rather than endlessly cursing their stupidity.

He was well aware, however, that such attraction was pointless. First Aid was newly forged, a bright young spark that radiated optimism and compassion. Why in Primus's name would he have any interest in a bitter, callous, and thoroughly ancient wreck such as himself?

Yes, Ratchet had always been attracted to First Aid, but had become adept at disregarding that attraction. The recent increases in the Protectobot’s mass, however, were making that attraction increasingly difficult to ignore. There was something truly fascinating about the way that his plump lipplates closed around each chocolate, the way that his soft cheekplates bulged as he chewed, the way that his optics and processor still remained focused at all times on his patient -

An alarm chimed on Ratchet's HUD, alerting him that it was time for a break, time for the routine consumption of noontime energon. Medics and patients alike, they all required fuel to function, and Ratchet wasn't about to skip lunch simply to continue scraping glitter glue out of the innermost crevices of Sideswipe's misaligned fan belt. 

It wasn't an emergency, it was merely an annoyance, and it could Pit well wait.

As the old medic watched First Aid complete a final inspection of Cliffjumper's wheel alignment and swiftly clear the minibot for discharge, he contemplated making today the orn that he finally admitted his attraction.

He was well aware, however, that such attraction was pointless. First Aid was newly forged, a bright young spark that radiated optimism and compassion, who would never in a million stellar cycles have any interest in a bitter, callous, and thoroughly ancient wreck such as himself. 

He contemplated making today the orn that he finally admitted his attraction, but almost immediately changed his mind. 

It wasn't an emergency, it was merely an annoyance, and it could Pit well wait.

**Author's Note:**

> For the anonymous batformer. Thank you for your patience. 
> 
> I'm sorry that this one is so depressing - I've been in a weird mood lately. Ratchet is so determined not to ruin Aid's life by tying him down to a grumpy old rustbucket, but what he doesn't realize (and might never realize, at this rate) is that the young mech actually loves him back. Gah. Now why couldn't I have written THAT story instead? 
> 
> Requests remain closed at this time. I am working on requests involving the Constructicons, the Cassetticons, and Ratchet/Megatron. They will be posted shortly.
> 
> Any and all feedback is appreciated.


End file.
